


Lessons

by lectrolamb



Category: Enderal (Video Game)
Genre: Exhibitionism, F/M, Just smut, Kinda, M/M, Multi, PWP, Porn Without Plot, Threesomes, Voyeurism, everybody give Tharaêl a kiss he deserves it!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-23
Updated: 2021-01-23
Packaged: 2021-03-15 13:49:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,252
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28939509
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lectrolamb/pseuds/lectrolamb
Summary: Tharaêl's new life outside of the Rhalâta brings him many strange and delightful things - most of all, friends. The Prophetess and her companion, Jespar Del'Varek, are perhaps the only people he trusts in all of Vyn. One pleasant evening, as the spiced wine flows and peaceweed smoke fills the air, they express a desire to take their friendship with Tharaêl to the next level. Eager but inexperienced, Tharaêl receives a lesson in lovemaking from the couple.
Relationships: Jespar Dal'Varek/Prophet | Prophetess, Jespar Dal’Varek/Tharael, Tharaêl Narys/Prophetess
Kudos: 6





	Lessons

**Author's Note:**

> im overjoyed right now bc this broke my year-long writing dry spell!!!!!!!!!! i cant wait to write more Enderal fic but i should probably um finish the game first lmao. but i just finished the Rhalâta questline and now Tharaêl is IN MY HOUSE bein all gorgeous and Jespar is back from his bad boy sulky walkabout and i just could NOT get this idea out of my head!!!!!!!!!! so here it is!!! it's filthy but also kinda sweet! and i hope you enjoy it! :D :D

Tharaêl had to learn how to live, all over again.   
  
It was just like the Prophetess had said to him, at the edge of the crater - there were many things to live for, besides revenge. He just had to find them, and she would help. He still felt hollow and wounded, but it was a pain that he was learning to live with.   
  
He had his own home now, in Ark's marketplace. The Prophetess had signed over the deed to him, despite his protests. She was as stubborn as she was kind, and though he didn't understand _why_ she cared for him so much, she did so in a way that was unflinching and uncompromising. Eventually, he just had to accept it.  
  
There was a bed of his own, a hearth burning warm always, and shelves upon shelves of books. He spent most of his time reading, asking the Prophetess to bring him more books faster than she could keep up with. But still she always showed up at his doorstep with a beaming smile and a crate of dusty tomes, gathered during her travels. Usually he read by the fire, but sometimes, if the weather was nice, he sat on the second floor balcony, let the dappled sunlight and soft breeze tickle his skin. After a life underground, it was intoxicating. He was even beginning to feel comfortable walking around the market without a hood.  
  
It was so strange, all this idleness. It wasn't purposeless idleness, but it was idleness all the same, and the world was ending around him. It took a lot of convincing from the Prophetess. _"You've struggled and suffered all your life,"_ she said, looking him dead in the face. _"Now you need to rest. You need to heal."_ And though he wanted to put up a fight, he knew she was right. He had nothing to give anymore. An empty jug cannot pour, and he was bone dry. But little by little, day by day, he could feel himself starting to fill up again.  
  
Perhaps the strangest of all was the fact that he had friends now. Really, it was just the Prophetess and her lover, the sellsword Dal'Varek, but two friends were two more than he'd had before, and a good amount to start with. Tharaêl liked Jespar, genuinely - he was a good-natured and funny man, always ready with a quip, a roguish grin, and a hearty laugh. Worlds away from the deadly serious Rhalâim that Tharaêl had spent his life with. Plus, it was clear as day how madly Jespar adored the Prophetess, which was... a mere fraction of what that woman deserved. Tharaêl wanted to place the whole universe at her feet, but at least he couldn't have chosen a better companion for her than Jespar.  
  
The three spent many evenings together, sharing drink and conversation, playing cards and songs. Sometimes they gathered in Tharaêl's humble home. He liked that - he felt like even after they were gone, laughter echoed to the ceiling and warmth filled the walls. More often, the Prophetess hosted them at her manor in the Noble Quarters.   
  
That's where they were on this particular evening. It was a warm spring night, and the scent of jasmine wafted in through the open windows. The Prophetess had set a lute to playing, phantom magic plucking at the strings as deftly as any human player could, and the three of them sat at the table around the remains of a hearty vegetarian meal. Tharaêl took a deep sip from his goblet of spiced wine and sighed, entirely content.  
  
The Prophetess was watching him with a smile. Jespar sat with an arm slung around her shoulder. Tharaêl met her eyes, and in that moment they were sharing the same thought. He'd starved most of his life. Days without eating, and then only the most joyless, flavorless food. To enjoy a meal was a sin in the eyes of the Rhalâta. Eating was an unfortunate necessity, to sustain the cursed mortal form until it could be shed. Tharaêl had almost cried the first time the Prophetess had served him a breakfast of fruit and honey. One taste had nearly justified all the suffering he'd endured. He saw it in the Prophetess's eyes, then and always. He'd never go hungry again. She filled his world with color, with flavor, with the scent of jasmine and the sound of laughter.  
  
"Not to interrupt this moment you two are clearly sharing," Jespar said with a smirk. "But how do we feel about a round of Treomar?" The mercenary was already pulling a pack of cards out of his jacket.  
  
"So eager to part with your coin, Dal'Varek," Tharaêl drawled. "Shame, as I know it's hard earned. But fine. I'll indulge you."  
  
"Listen!" Jespar pointed at Tharaêl. "I don't know what sort of gambling witchcraft they taught you down there, but I _will_ beat you one day! Perhaps even tonight!"  
  
The Prophetess clicked her tongue and began refilling their cups. "We'll need fortification to withstand this slaughter," she murmured jokingly, with a wink to Tharaêl as she poured glimmering ruby red wine into his goblet. Another thing he loved about his new life. Overindulgence was never a good thing, but neither was the opposite extreme, and an appropriately moderate amount of fine alcohol did wonders for unlacing the tightness in his mind. He took a sip and felt heat rise in his cheeks - though perhaps that was due to the Prophetess' blouse beginning to slip slightly off her shoulder, a tantalizing glimpse of tanned skin glimmering in the candlelight, her hair loose and falling over it in golden waves. She didn't seem to notice his lingering gaze, but Jespar did - and he grinned at Tharaêl over the lip of his goblet. Hm. A strange look, that made Tharaêl's stomach flip.   
  
It was a spirited game, but Tharaêl was merciless as always. In short order he'd accumulated a pile of pennies from Jespar and the Prophetess both. When the mercenary's coin pouch was empty, he ceded defeat, with great shame.  
  
"One day, Tharaêl, one day..." he murmured, as he began packing a pipe of peaceweed. He turned to the Prophetess, who lit it with the tip of her finger, and crossed his arms as he began to puff thoughtfully.  
  
"You know, I think he's cheating."  
  
Jespar passed the pipe to the Prophetess, who took a long puff, exhaling the smoke languidly through slightly parted lips. Tharaêl watched the smoke rise to the ceiling.  
  
"I think he's just better at cards than you are, darling."  
  
"Nonsense!"  
  
The three of them laughed, the lute played on, and they settled into comfortable conversation. Peaceweed smoke filled the air, the scent of it earthy and heady and mingling with the night jasmine. Tharaêl usually absconded from the pipe - one mindaltering substance at a time, he thought. But he loved to watch the couple in front of him, as they sank deeper into the haze. Their bodies melted into each other, as though they couldn't physically be close enough. The Prophetess leaned into Jespar's shoulder, he toyed with a strand of her hair and spoke close to her ear, they laced their hands together and gazed at each other with heavy-lidded eyes. Tharaêl watched, and felt a thousand things at once.  
  
He couldn't recall ever having experienced a friendly touch in his life, until he met the Prophetess. The first time she shook his hand, even gloved, he was shaking. She learned quickly that he didn't like to be touched - no taps on the shoulder, no grabbing his arm, none of the things most people wouldn't even think twice about. To him, touch was a danger. It had only ever brought pain. She was so patient with him. He wanted to be touched, her told her, but he was afraid. First, she just sat next to him, shoulders touching. It was hard at first - he felt so tense, for no reason - but quickly he grew to enjoy it. Then, she pressed their palms together. Just that. Skin touching skin. He broke out in a cold sweat. He wanted to run away just as much as he wanted to throw himself upon her. But he just sat, her golden eyes steadfast, and soon... it was nothing at all. Soon _he_ laced his fingers with hers. She was so happy, that day. And so was he. Looking at the Prophetess and Jespar now, this intimacy, this closeness and comfort... Tharaêl felt a pit of longing like he'd never known before.  
  
"Jespar," he blurted out. "May I try the pipe?"  
  
Jespar raised his eyebrows. "Oh, certainly! I'm glad you asked. Here," he held the pipe by the bowl and extended the handle towards Tharaêl. "Puff gentle and shallow at first, or you'll drive yourself to a coughing fit. Take your time."  
  
The smoke tasted just like it smelled, and tickled his nose from the inside. When he exhaled, he felt lightheaded, and a wash of giddiness overtook him. He coughed lightly and laughed.  
  
"Good job," the Prophetess said, with a smile. "You're a natural. Pass it around."  
  
The three of them passed the pipe around the table, Jespar replenishing it once it was spent. Oh... Tharaêl understood now why Jespar never shut up about this stuff. The room was overcome with a golden haze. The lute sounded even more gorgeous, the wine tasted even better, his body felt weightless and euphoric. And his friends... his friends, Jespar and the Prophetess... they were the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.  
  
"I think he likes it," said Jespar, amused.  
  
"Oh, yes," Tharaêl answered enthusiastically. "I think we should all be smoking peaceweed, all the time."  
  
They all three erupted into raucous laughter. Surely it could be heard even from the street. Tharaêl laughed until he was out of breath, and then he hit the pipe again.  
  
"I love seeing you happy," said the Prophetess, softly and reverently and a bit out of nowhere. She had her head on Jespar's shoulder and was looking at Tharaêl like he'd hung the moon. It was as though time had stopped. Tharaêl's heart was in his throat.  
  
"It's all your doing," he finally managed to respond, and passed the pipe to Jespar. Then, Jespar did something strange.

He took a hearty puff and held it in his mouth. Then, he gently placed a hand on the Prophetess's jaw and turned her face toward him. She leaned into his touch, tilted her mouth up towards his. For a moment, it looked like they were about to kiss. Instead they held their mouths a butterfly wing's width apart, and Jespar let the smoke float from his mouth into hers. She inhaled it, and only once the smoke was consumed did they allow their lips to touch, ever so slightly.  
  
 _Fuck. Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck._ Tharaêl felt the room spinning around him. He'd never seen anything so... so hot. Though he may have been sexually inexperienced to the highest degree, as a virile young man he was no stranger to arousal. It was positively _surging_ through him right now.  
  
"Tharaêl..." the Prophetess turned to him. As though reading his mind, she asked. "Have you ever... have you ever _been_ with someone?"   
  
He sputtered. However red Aeterna could turn, he was there.  
  
"What the fuck kind of question is that?"  
  
"You don't have to answer if you don't want to," she assured him. "I'm just curious."  
  
He knew he could say no right then and she would gracefully steer the conversation elsewhere, like it had never happened. She'd done it so many times before, a gentle prodding until she found his limits followed by a smooth retreat. No... he _did_ want to answer. He was just embarrassed, and flustered.  
  
"No," he glowered. "Rhalâim take a vow of celibacy. Regardless, I... I doubt anyone would want to _be_ with me."  
  
The Prophetess and Jespar quickly exchanged a look.  
  
"What?" Tharaêl demanded, his heart speeding up.  
  
"Tharaêl..." she wore that look she always wore when she wanted to tell him something very serious. "Um... _we_ do. We want to be with you. You... you are _gorgeous_ , Tharaêl. I've wanted you for a long time."  
  
"And I, too," added Jespar. "Since damn near the moment I met you. You're an exceedingly fine man."   
  
They were both looking at him like... _blazes_ , they were telling the truth, weren't they? Tharaêl leaned forward, placing his elbows on the table and staring at the couple intently.   
  
"Prophetess, Del'Varek... are you... you really mean it?"  
  
They nodded eagerly. The Prophetess leaned forward as well.  
  
"Is that... I know you've never done it before, but... is that something you'd be interested in?"  
  
The air was still, thick with peaceweed smoke and jasmine and tension. Fuck it. It wasn't like he hadn't pleasured himself countless times to this very thought. He didn't trust anyone in the world but these two. Right now, he felt safe. Exhilarated, aching, but safe. He leaned back and crossed his legs.  
  
"I can think of little else I'd be interested in more."  
  
Jespar and the Prophetess beamed at each other, thrilled.  
  
"But... you know I'm inexperienced."  
  
"It's okay," said the Prophetess. "Jespar was my first. We'll take it as slow as you want."  
  
And there was that mercenary, smirking, with his scars and his silver hair. Like he was proud of being her first. Like he was King Defiler, Lord of Filth, stolen the virtue of the Holy Prophetess, corrupting her into... _gods_. Tharaêl's imagination was getting carried away.  
  
"I might need..." Tharaêl swallowed. "A lesson or two. An exhibition."  
  
Jespar already had a hand snaking up the Prophetess' bodice, already had his face buried in her neck. "Mmm," he mumbled affirmatively into her skin, and Tharaêl swore he could feel it. "Watching is a good way to learn."  
  
"Exactly."  
  
"Blazes..." the Prophetess whispered, biting her lip. "I've dreamed of this. Tharaêl, are you sure this is what you want?"  
  
"Yes. And I know you'll stop if I change my mind."  
  
"Just say the word. There's no pressure."  
  
Well, Tharaêl _did_ feel some pressure. Mostly from his breeches. Jespar watched him squirm in his seat.  
  
"Shall we take this up to the bedroom, then?" Jespar suggested. The Prophetess practically leapt up. She went to Tharaêl, and took his hand. That touch... it was like she'd used a lightning spell on him. Jespar stood casually and started up the stairs, and the Prophetess led Tharaêl by the hand.  
  
It was all a blur, how they even made it up the stairs and into the bedroom. There was a chair aside the bed, and Tharaêl collapsed into it, fearing his legs might give out. The Prophetess placed her hands on the arms of the chair and leaned over him, her hair brushing his thighs, the scent of her skin filling his lungs.  
  
"Tharaêl," she whispered. "You can participate as much or as little as you want to. You're in control. And if you want us to stop, just say so. No questions asked. Is that okay?"  
  
Tharaêl nodded mutely.  
  
"Can I kiss you?" she asked.  
  
He opened his mouth, but no sound came out. He nodded again.  
  
"No," she shook her head. "Say yes. You have to say yes."  
  
With all the strength he could muster, he used his voice.  
  
"Yes," he croaked. " _Please._ "  
  
The instant the words left his mouth, she crushed her mouth into his. They'd both been waiting for this, for far too long. Tharaêl had never been kissed before, but he thought perhaps he could've kissed every person in the Undercity and still never have been kissed like _this_. Her lips were so soft and her tongue tasted like spiced wine and she was desperately devouring him and he was glad for it. For him to have feared this, to have hid his face, to have shied away from her... of course he understood why he did it, but his heart broke for his old self. When her lips left his and instead lavished kisses upon the burn scars on his cheeks, his heart broke even more.   
  
She left him breathless, and returned to the arms of her lover. Jespar grasped her face with both hands and kissed her deeply. He slid his hands down to her waist and pulled her closer, so their bodies were flush. Tharaêl wished to become the size of a flea, so he could be crushed between them. Jespar's hands traveled down even further, to grasp the Prophetess's ass, his fingers roughly digging into the soft white fabric of her dress over even softer flesh. She whimpered into his mouth.  
  
Jespar broke away from their kiss and turned the Prophetess to face Tharaêl, as he himself stood behind her. He began to kiss her neck as his fingers deftly slid open the laces of her bodice. The outer garment fell away leaving her in only a thin white chemise, a sheer piece of fabric that clung obscenely to every peak and valley of her body, giving Tharaêl but a glimpse of what was to come.   
  
"Tharaêl," Jespar spoke low and rough as he slid the Prophetess' chemise down off one shoulder, and then the other. Her breasts came free, and Tharaêl's breath caught in his throat. Jespar brought his hands up to her breasts, cupping and squeezing them, running his thumbs over her nipples. She squirmed and gasped. "Have you ever pleasured yourself?" Jespar continued, nibbling lightly on the Prophetess's ear.  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Mm, good," Jespar growled. The Prophetess looked pleased as well. Jespar finished sliding her chemise off onto the ground, and just like that, the Holy Prophetess was completely nude and on display for Tharaêl. Suddenly his mouth was very dry. She was... beyond anything he could have imagined. She was beautiful, she was perfect, her skin glowed in the light of the fire. Her breasts were just enough to fill Jespar's cupped hand, a nipped in waist giving way to a soft belly and ample hips. Between her legs was a tuft of golden hair. Tharaêl reached out to touch it, running his fingers lightly over the silk of it. She shivered and buckled into his touch, and suddenly he realized just how close to her sex he was. He withdrew his hand.  
  
"If you'd like," she said softly, picking up where Jespar left off. "You can pleasure yourself while you watch us."   
  
As if he'd been waiting for permission, he ripped the laces out of his breeches and freed his achingly hard cock. It throbbed in his palm. The Prophetess made a noise of approval and began to undress Jespar.  
  
"His cock is beautiful, don't you think?" she asked Jespar, lifting his shirt over his head and undoing his breeches. Jespar's torso was finely muscled and _heavily_ scarred. It made Tharaêl feel a bit better about his own mangled body, his own cobbled-together flesh. It wasn't the same, but... maybe they _weren't_ lying about being attracted to him.  
  
"Gods, yes," Jespar muttered, as he was deposed of his pants and his own dick came into view. Tharaêl had never seen another man hard. Jespar's cock was thick and red, lightly glistening, a sort of awe-inspiring construct of power. The Prophetess took it in her hand, swirling her thumb around the tip, and Jespar pulled her into a kiss again as Tharaêl gently tugged at his own dick.  
  
"We'll teach you everything, Tharaêl," breathed the Prophetess, "everything about giving and receiving pleasure. There's so much we have to show you."   
  
Jespar grinned and lifted her onto the bed. "Shall we start with you, my love?" he murmured, sitting next to her and kissing her with his hand on her throat. She was sitting on the edge of the bed facing Tharaêl, and Jespar ran his hand lightly up her leg, a silent urging for her to open, spread. "I don't think I've ever seen anything that compares. Shall we show him?"  
  
"Yes," she propped herself up on her elbows so she could watch Tharaêl. "Show him."  
  
Jespar gently guided her legs open, and the cunt of the Holy Prophetess spread itself out for Tharaêl. He moaned and buckled his hips, grinding his dick into his palm. He was glad he killed the Father. How could one man be so wrong? The body wasn't profane. It was profound. This was profound, _she_ was profound, there was no other word for it. Her folds were neatly arranged as if on purpose, the softest pink, glimmering with moisture and dusted with gold silk. She was a flower, she was a jewel, she was the rain on the earth and the sun on his skin. " _Gods,_ " he uttered. "Fuck, you're... it's perfect."  
  
Jespar laid a line of kisses up the inside of her thigh. He drew two fingers up her slit, spreading the slick. " _Mm_ ," he moaned. "Look how wet she is already. That means she's very excited."  
  
As if to confirm, the Prophetess rolled her head back and sighed. "Yes, yes, I am. Knowing you're watching me, Tharaêl, it turns me on so much." She lifted her gaze back to Tharaêl, to his hand stroking his cock, to his eyes clouded with lust. "Do you like it?"  
  
He let out a hoarse laugh, as if it was ridiculous she would even ask, that caught in his throat and turned to a moan. "Y- _yesss_ ," he managed, weakly.   
  
"There are as many ways to pleasure a woman as there are stars in the sky," Jespar said softly, as he stroked her. "The only limit is your imagination. Usually, I like to start with my fingers."  
  
With that, Jespar used two of his fingers to spread her open. Nestled in the velvet folds was what looked like a pearl, a perfect pink teardrop of flesh, swollen with arousal. " _This_ ," he said in a hushed, reverent tone, "is her clit. This is where you want to be. It's where _she_ wants you to be."  
  
As if to demonstrate, he swiped his thumb over it. Gently, quickly, but the Prophetess gasped like she'd been shocked. He lowered his head to wrap his lips around her nipple, and drew his thumb in slow circles around her clit. She moaned, slow and keening, and buckled her hips in time with Jespar's circles. Almost unconsciously, Tharaêl adjusted his own speed to match. Jespar lapped at her nipple with his tongue, circles to mirror his fingers on her clit, sucking and biting, drawing all sorts of sounds from her throat.   
  
"Then," Jespar rasped. "You can enter her."  
  
He slid one finger into her eager entrance. She inhaled sharply and exhaled a moan.  
  
"She'll be tight at first," he breathed, bringing his mouth back up to trail along her neck. "Take your time."  
  
Tharaêl watched, entranced, as Jespar slid his finger in and out, slowly, teasing. He kissed her again, desperate and sloppy, and while their mouths were entwined he added a second finger, swallowing the sounds she made. He went faster and she ground herself against his hand.   
  
"I want to taste you, darling," Jespar growled. "Instruct our student."  
  
"Gladly," the Prophetess panted, breathless. She grinned at Tharaêl as Jespar removed his fingers and left the bed. He knelt, instead, on the floor between her legs, ensuring Tharaêl still had a clear view.  
  
"Another way to pleasure a woman is with your mouth," said the Prophetess, as Jespar lavished her thighs with kisses and gentle nibbles. "This is highly favored, and it's all about the clit."   
  
Jespar buried his nose in the silk between her legs, and inhaled deeply. The Prophetess placed her legs on his shoulders and drew her thighs in around his ears.  
  
"Start with gentle, long licks," she instructed, and Jespar demonstrated. He drew his tongue languidly up the length of her slit, and she moaned slowly. "Tease me," she said breathlessly, as Jespar continued his slow and deliberate pace. "Make me - _ah_ \- make me beg for what comes next."   
  
Tharaêl was getting frustrated - he could only imagine how _she_ felt. She rolled her hips rhythmically against Jespar's face, searching for the right sensation, attempting to do it herself. Jespar loved it, Tharaêl could tell. And so did he.  
  
"Now," she commanded. "Draw circles around my clit with your tongue."  
  
Jespar obliged, and everything changed. That was the pleasure she was seeking. She threw her head back and dug her hands into Jespar's hair, holding him in place as she thrashed wildly.   
  
" _Gods_ , yes, Jespar - like that - _fffuuuckkkk_ " she moaned and whined and sighed and cursed, completely lost in the throes of passion. Tharaêl's dick had started to leak, and he spread the slickness down his shaft, fucking his fist desperately.   
  
"Jespar," he panted. "How does she taste?"  
  
Jespar pulled himself away for a moment, to answer.  
  
"Honey. Heaven. Things you can't imagine. Here - "  
  
Jespar stood and turned to Tharaêl. He gently but firmly grabbed Tharaêl's face, tilted his chin up, and brought his face down to meet his. He held his mouth close to Tharaêl's, the two men breathing heavily, Jespar looking down at him with smouldering, heavy-lidded eyes. "May I?" Jespar asked, and Tharaêl whimpered out an affirmative. Then, Jespar kissed him. It was surprisingly gentle. Tharaêl could feel his scars and his stubble, and as their tongues slid together he could taste... _Gods,_ he could taste her. Jespar had been right. There was nothing sweeter on Vyn or in any heaven.  
  
"Holy _shit_ ," he heard the Prophetess utter. "Gods... that was _so_ fucking hot. Jespar... come here. I need you to make me cum now."  
  
"With pleasure," Jespar said with a wolfish grin, returning to his post between her legs. This time, he used his tongue and his fingers. Two of them, pummeling her thoroughly, while he sucked at her clit. She was coming undone. Something was happening, but Tharaêl didn't know what. She arched her back, she thrashed and writhed helplessly, she buckled her hips and curled her toes. When she was nearly at her peak, Jespar moved his face back up to hers. Now it was just his fingers, pounding into her cunt. With his other hand he grabbed her jaw and turned her face towards him, locking his eyes onto hers, biting her jawline and neck.  
  
"Yes," Tharaêl heard him growl into her ear. "Cum for me, my darling. Show Tharaêl how much you love showing off for him." She was looking up at Jespar, desperate and rapturous, held in his gaze as he continued to whisper to her and she squirmed onto his hand. "Good girl, cum for us now, you can -"  
  
He was cut off by... what Tharaêl could only describe as a wave breaking. The Prophetess's body seized and shook as she tossed her head around blindly. She let out a high-pitched sort of whine, which crested and fell into panting and moaning. Jespar's fingers were so slick with her, and he continued fucking her with them until the wave had passed. Then, as her body relaxed and she lay in breathless heaven, he kissed her so tenderly and lovingly it was almost the most obscene part of it all.  
  
"Fuck..." Tharaêl whispered. He felt a warm pit in his stomach, spreading up his chest, to his fingers and toes. "Was that... what was that?"  
  
The Prophetess giggled.  
  
"Climax," she said blissfully. Jespar continued to kiss her, ran his hands adoringly all over her face and body. They both turned to look at Tharaêl, who was sure he looked a mess, weeping cock in hand, shirt and hair a mess, cheeks red and eyes glazed over. But they smiled.  
  
"A woman can climax over and over again," Jespar said, propping himself up on an elbow. "But, well, you know what happens when a man does. He's spent. So make sure she's... properly sated... before you even _think_ about getting anywhere near her with your cock." The Prophetess giggled again, pressing her forehead against Jespar's. "In fact," he continued, "you should make her cum until she _begs_ you to stop and fuck her already. _If_ you have the willpower. Tonight... I do not."   
  
"Mmm," the Prophetess hummed thoughtfully, rolling over. "What positions should we show him? There are so many..."  
  
"Indeed, my darling," Jespar kissed her shoulder and caressed her hips. "I won't be able to hold out for long. This is... _profoundly_ erotic."  
  
The three of them laughed. That was one way to put it. Then, suddenly, as though she'd received a burst of energy, the Prophetess sprung up and pushed Jespar down onto his back.  
  
" _Oh_ ," Jespar exclaimed, surprised and delighted. "Oh. Excellent choice."  
  
She straddled Jespar, and he grasped her hips. Tharaêl tightened his grip on his cock. He knew what was about to happen. Jespar teased against the Prophetess with the tip of his dick, and then slowly, agonizingly, lowered her onto the length of his erection, until he was buried to the hilt.   
  
She arched her back and moaned, then wiggled her hips against Jespar. His breath caught and escaped in a long whine, a sound that struck arousal deep into Tharaêl's core. " _Blazes_ ," Jespar gasped. "You feel amazing."  
  
The Prophetess hummed approvingly, and began to ride Jespar in earnest. She rolled her hips, front to back, in a circle, every way and others. She leaned forward and lifted herself up, almost all the way off Jespar's dick, before lowering herself back down and starting over again. Jespar's hands slid up from her hips to grasp her breasts, and then one at her throat. The way they were looking at each other... Tharaêl couldn't breathe. He wanted that.   
  
"Gods," Jespar moaned, grabbing her hips and controlling her grinding. "You're so tight. So wet. _Fuck_ , you truly have the best cunt in the world."  
  
Tharaêl's mouth was watering. He thrust his hips into his hand desperately. What did she feel like? He wanted to know so bad. Gods, she was right there, and he was watching Jespar fuck her, watching his face twist in agonizing pleasure, watching her grind against him.   
  
" _Fuck,_ " she moaned. "Fuck, Jespar, yes - Gods - fuck me harder!"  
  
Jespar growled and dug his hands into the soft flesh of her hips. He held her there, up at the end of his shaft, and began to slam himself into her harder and faster. At first she had been fucking _him_ \- now he was fucking _her_. She bounced on his dick, all her softness jiggling delightfully as she was pounded with the full strength of mercenary might. Tharaêl grit his teeth against the cries of the Prophetess and the grunts of Jespar, the sounds of wild unrestrained lovemaking. He felt a knot of pressure forming at the base of his spine.  
  
"Wait - wait," the Prophetess panted. Jespar slowed his pace, but was loathe to stop completely. "We need to give him a better view."  
  
"Mmm," Jespar moaned, cupping her breast. "You're right. He deserves a full frontal show. Don't you agree, Tharaêl?"  
  
He could hardly speak. "I -" his words caught in his throat, and turned to unintelligible sounds of pleasure. "I think I'm gonna cum. Soon."  
  
"Then yes. Definitely."  
  
The Prophetess dismounted Jespar, and lay on her side facing Tharaêl. She settled her head on the pillow and gazed at Tharaêl with unbridled adoration and lust.  
  
"You're so fucking hot," she whispered. Jespar placed himself behind her, also facing Tharaêl, and lifted the Prophetess' leg. All of her was on display this way, and Tharaêl could clearly see Jespar sliding against her slit, his dick swollen and dripping.   
  
"Fuck," Tharaêl whispered, his eyes rolling back. He regained his composure just in time to watch Jespar enter the Prophetess, her glistening pink cunt parting for him, tightly hugging the girth of his shaft. He could have blacked out then. But he was glad he didn't - the Prophetess had her eyes locked on him, as glazed over with lust as they were. She wanted to watch him watching her get fucked. Gods, as if he could look away.  
  
Jespar hissed with pleasure as he entered the Prophetess. Even if he'd wanted to go slow, he couldn't. She felt too good, and knowing that Tharaêl was watching them... he couldn't control himself. He held the Prophetess's leg in the air and fucked her with reckless abandon.  
  
"Oh my god," the Prophetess moaned, different this time, deep and guttural. " _Fuck_ yes, Jespar, fuck me."  
  
He slammed into her, letting out a cry of his own. " _God_ , my filthy little Prophetess, _fuck_ "  
  
She took her fingers and spread herself open, so Tharaêl could more clearly see Jespar's cock sliding in and out, his shaft slick with her. "Tharaêl," she breathed. "Do you like it? Do you like watching me get fucked?"  
  
He couldn't answer, and so he did something bold. Cock in hand, he slid out of the chair and onto his knees before the Prophetess. He dragged his lips ungracefully along her thigh, too far gone for anything else. And then, while Jespar fucked her from behind, he found her pearl and began suckling desperately.  
  
The Prophetess and Jespar both cried out in unison, surprised and delighted.   
  
" _Fuck,_ Tharaêl," she wound her hand into his ink-black hair. "God, that feels amazing, you're amazing, _fuck_."  
  
"Holy shit," breathed Jespar. "Tharaêl, that's... you learn fast."  
  
He mumbled something incoherent in response, absolutely unable to tear himself away from drinking the Prophetess's sweetness. He stroked his cock furiously, overcome with the taste of her, worshipping at her altar. All three of them made mindless sounds of blind pleasure, completely dead to the world and anything that wasn't this, right here. Tharaêl was like a hungry dog, lapping wildly, not caring if it was the Prophetess's cunt or Jespar's pistoning dick he tasted. This pushed Jespar over some edge, and he was to take them both with him.  
  
"Don't stop, Tharaêl," he huffed. "You'll feel her cum. _Gods_ , I'm about to."  
  
The Prophetess began to shake. "Jespar," she whimpered. "Cum inside me. Fill me. Tharaêl..."   
  
That was the point of no return. Jespar buried his dick in her and groaned ferociously. Tharaêl could feel Jespar's dick throbbing under his tongue, emptying itself into the Prophetess's waiting cunt. Then, as his own cum began to spurt out into his hand, hot and thick, he felt the Prophetess reach her climax as well. He felt her tense and tremble, felt her clit pulsing, he moaned desperately into her folds as she cried out in ecstasy, his name and Jespar's. His body seized and shook, waves of pleasure like he'd never known in his life. The three of them came together, and Tharaêl had never imagined a feeling like this could even be possible.   
  
After an eternity-long instant, Jespar pulled himself out of the Prophetess, and Tharaêl detached himself as well. He didn't go far - couldn't - merely resting his head on the bed next to the Prophetess. He watched Jespar's cum leak out of her and drip down her thighs. He looked up at her - she was glowing, her cheeks flushed and her eyes glistening. It was trite to say that Tharaêl had never known love. He'd never even existed in the same universe as love. Once he'd told her that love was the most superficial thing in the universe, that nobody could love a man as grotesque as he was. Now... not only did he feel loved, he felt _desired_. She reached out to stroke his face, and he leaned into her touch.  
  
Jespar flopped down on the bed behind them. "By the Wise Hermit!" he shouted. "THAT WAS BLOODY AMAZING!"  
  
Tharaêl and the Prophetess broke out laughing. She moved over and made room for Tharaêl on the bed. "Lay with us?"  
  
By some miracle, he was able to haul himself up onto the bed. The Prophetess rolled over to face him, and Jespar as well, wrapping his arm around her waist and propping his head upon her shoulder.  
  
"Did you enjoy yourself, Tharaêl?" she asked.  
  
"Yes," he chuckled. "More than I can say."  
  
"Good," she hummed. Jespar watched them both with quiet contentment. "Tharaêl, I... I can't wait to make love to you. When you're ready."  
  
He knew he couldn't promise her anything. He knew he was broken and battered and would heal in strange and unpredictable ways. Tonight, maybe the stars aligned, maybe it was the peaceweed and the wine. He felt amazing now, but he wouldn't always. Still... knowing there were two people who wanted him, who cared enough about him to wait... it was more than he could fathom. He took the Prophetess' hand and squeezed it.  
  
"Thank you."  
  
It was then that he remembered his hand was covered in his own seed. And now so was the Prophetess's. They laughed.  
  
"Perhaps I should conjure us up a tub full of hot water. I think we _all_ need a bath."  
  
"Oh, yes," Jespar chimed. "We're absolutely _filthy_ , all of us!"  
  
Well. That was certainly true.  
  
Later that night, the three of them tumbled back into bed, clean and warm and smelling of soap. Tharaêl nestled himself between the two, Jespar's arm slung across his waist, the Prophetess tucked comfortably under his own arm. With the wave of a hand, the Prophetess extinguished all the candles, and velvet moonlight blanketed the trio. Tharaêl buried his nose into the Prophetess's hair and, as the three drifted off into sleep, he was struck by just how right the Prophetess had been. There was so, _so_ much to live for.  
  
  
  
  
  
  



End file.
